Herein I write about the inane details of my life, including the arrival of the fabulous and spunkiest toddler EVER, Miss Thang; the evil workings of my two darling hell-minions, my cats; the fabulous love of a dreamy man whom I married, The Funasaurus; my overall dislike of anything exercise-y; and my grand aspirations to one day be the reigning monarch of Norway... and also to hold the record for gallons of cabernet consumed in one happy hour. Oh. And a love of run-on sentences. Bienvenue!

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

People You Meet While Traveling

Sadly, not Prince Haakon.

But otherwise, I met Rosie and Moxie, (not their real names, but I named them while I was half-conscious, folded over with my head on the tray table) the two large, elderly women whom I sat between on the flight from D.C. to Frankfurt. In the Smallest Plane Ever. They were very nice as well as very talkative, and I had a complete knowledge of the entire history of Rosie's inner ear problems before we had even taken off. I tried to fall asleep with my new, adorable NEW AIRPLANE PILLOW (except mine was PINK! and so NOT $75) but then I switched to lean forward and rest my head on my arms on the tray table. At which point Rosie decided I needed a good rub on the back.

Um. Hello? Me = not your grandkid, lady. Nor, really, a kid, at all, at my ripe old age of 27. So my personal space felt a little invaded, so I fake sneezed, which resulted in an, "Oh, bless you!!" and then more back rubbing. So I decided to enjoy it, since it obviously wasn't going away.

I met my friend's boyfriend in Heidelberg, who took me to tour THIScastle, and then his mother, who expected me to eat like I was a sumo wrestler. I gave it a decent shot, but I saw a hint of disappointment on her face when I wouldn't take a third helping of sausage and pretzel, after the cheese and veggies. For breakfast.

I met a ton of interesting, hyper book people at the Frankfurt Book Fair, as well as a couple of duds who preferred cigarettes to conversation. Despite the fact that a) we were meeting to discuss buying rights to my books and b) the NO SMOKING sign I had placed just above my head.

I met a racist cab driver, who was otherwise quite chatty and helpful with my oversized baggage, and a dreamy hunk.

Who deserves his own paragraph.

I was standing in line at the airport in Frankfurt, headed back home, when I hear this voice say, "Bite, voeghorisg, bloogderzite, ecchh ich begh?" (paraphrasing.) I turned around to see The Most Beautiful Man in the World, and sadly replied, "English?" It took everything in my power not to add, "Ich Liebe Dich."

"Oh," (flash bazillion-watt-perfectly-straight-very-white-teeth smile) "Sorry! Hey, do you know, is this the line for the international counter for Lufthansa?" he replied in the most generic, American accent ever.

Oh! I love him even more.

After regaining composure, I had to admit I had no idea. I just like standing in random lines in airports where I don't speak the language. With no makeup on, damn me. Had I known I'd be running into a soap opera star (no, seriously, he fit what I imagine to be the mold, with his dreamy blond hair, intense blue eyes... he looked a lot like that guy from The Fast and the Furious, actually, come to think of it. I have totally resolved to integrate Days of Our Lives into my life, in any case.) I would have perhaps bothered to, I don't know, brush my hair.

So he said, "Tell you what, will you watch my bag, and I'll go check for us?"

He said, "for us"! I imagined he was also envisioning our life together, too. (Kidding, baby, Funasaurus, if you ever read this.)

(Ha.)

So he went and spoke very fluent-sounding German with some official-looking person, while I took it upon myself to check his baggage tags for a name.

Tobias.

Naturally.

What else would The Dreamiest Soap Opera Star Guy Ever be named?

So he came back, flashed the same smile (I may have swooned a little) and then said, "Follow me."

So I did. (Duh.)

We stood in another line, where I tried to imagine how it was going to play out, that our lives were obviously destined to cross, how The Funasaurus would feel about a third, etc., etc., when I met The Evilest Dude Ever who happened to be working in the Lufthansa counter. He's the one who ruined my destiny with Mr. Beautiful. He's the one who (erroneously!) sent me to the United counter, to go stand in line, and Mr. Beautiful waved goodbye, and that was the last I ever saw of him. I never even got to put on my lucky, Kiss Melip gloss. That's o.k., he probably wasn't in line to a European throne, anyway.

In other news, there is someone even MORE fabulous in the world. I know, hard to believe. But Marcia, of The Pink Shoe brilliance, (I am still mad she thought of that blog title before I did) created some darling, very princess-like side bar headers for me. So now I'm all cool and hip(per than I was) in the blogosphere, and whatnot. Kisses, Pink Shoe! You're fabulous!

And that was my trip in a (very long-winded) nutshell. Oh yeah, I sold some book rights, too.

Very captivating story, cant wait to find out what happens next. Ever think of spicing up someone elses blog. I mean, I send you my basic details and you make it into a funny, cleaver tale of epic proportions.